


A Tooth For a Tooth

by Melanie_Athene



Series: To Err Is Human [24]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Season/Series 07, Angst, Fix-It, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-28
Updated: 2014-05-28
Packaged: 2018-01-26 20:27:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1701440
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Melanie_Athene/pseuds/Melanie_Athene
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stheno...</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Tooth For a Tooth

For several long and agonizing minutes Sam lay where he'd landed – sprawled flat on his stomach, his face planted in unforgiving soil – as he desperately tried to catch his stolen breath and slow the frantic pounding of his heart.

“Fuck,” he gasped, finally summoning the energy to roll over, one hand pressed to his scraped and bleeding forehead, the other clutching his abused abdomen. “Fuck, fuck, fuck. This just keeps getting better and better.” Not only was he rolling around in the mud like a lazy pig now, but he didn't have a sweet clue as to which way was which. In fact, he scarcely knew up from down at this point.

Groaning in protest from the effort, Sam somehow gathered the will to sit up. He sought out his cane, then: fumbling around himself in an ever widening circle, his hands slapping the earth and rustling through wisps of grass, all the while fervently hoping that the lost item had fallen nearby rather than being sent flying across the yard when the shockwave hit. 

It would seem luck was with him in this small matter, at least. Grateful fingers closed around the cane and, relying on the support it offered, he awkwardly struggled to his feet.

So far, so good. Except he had no idea what to do next... where to go....

“Caaaaaaaaaaaas!” Dean suddenly screamed, his voice laced with grief and fear. 

_No, not fear,_ Sam corrected that first impression. _Panic. Whatever's happening over there, it must be bad. Really bad._

Sam turned towards the source of the heartbreaking cry, his head tilting as he processed all the data he had gleaned in the past few seconds. Dean's voice came from over there... so... the barn was that way. Which meant the safety of Bobby's house lay in the opposite direction, directly behind him. 

Given the circumstances, the choice was an easy one.

Sam huffed a sigh and continued his interrupted journey towards the barn and his brother.

 

~*~

 

“Okay, okay,” Dean said, his breathing as rough as the sleeve he swiped across his still watering eyes. “Calm your tits, Winchester. Crying like a girl isn't going to solve anything.”

With a final defiant sniff, Dean used his flashlight to scan the wreckage that surrounded him, assessing the sorry state of the battlefield and seeking anything that might prove to be of use. The mirrored walls were a lost cause, all the glass laying splintered on the floor now. The barn itself provided little in the way of shelter: stars twinkled through the gaping hole that had once known a roof; boards and beams were tossed in haphazard piles, like oversized versions of Pick-up-Sticks; even the walls themselves had a decidedly dangerous incline that did not bode well for them remaining upright much longer. 

The prudent thing to do would be to retreat and take stock of his injuries back at Bobby's. A sensible man would bow to defeat and admit that his 'solid plan' had been doomed from the start – spectacularly so. The ungodly racket emanating from this fiasco would have resounded several counties over. Sam must be beside himself with worry.

“Sam,” Dean murmured, more than slightly shellshocked. “Gotta let Sam know I'm all right. Gotta make sure he's all right too.” 

Yes, that is what he should do. Reassure his brother. Regroup. Rearm. Rethink.

But that wasn't what he was going to do at all. Not while Castiel was MIA. Not until he knew one way or the other if his angel had survived the Gorgon.

Dean straightened his shoulders and began to to wander back and forth: kicking debris from his path, resolutely searching for his lost sword and shield, all the while desperately hoping he wouldn't find Castiel's body buried somewhere in the rubble.

Each time he discovered a candle lying amid the clutter, he wedged it firmly in the dirt and used his lighter to set it ablaze. Soon he had enough of them burning that he could return his lighter and flashlight to his pocket, and make his way around the room by candlelight. It wasn't ideal by any means, there were still far too many shadowy recesses for his liking, and the drafts that set the candles flickering posed a definite fire hazard. Still, it was better than stumbling around in the dark.

The shield was in the corner farthest from the door. The outer layer of wood was badly cracked, but the mirrors he had so painstakingly fastened to the inner curve were still intact. As he lifted his homemade shield from the litter, tipping it from side to side to check its structural integrity, he caught a glint of silver out of the corner of one eye: it was the angel blade, half buried by a landslide of fallen shingles.

“Thank God something in this shitty day is going right,” Dean growled as he strode across the floor and squatted down next to the shingles. Gripping the sword by its hilt, he stubbornly wiggled it back and forth until it sprang free from the pile. A wave of renewed confidence swept through him as he rose back to his feet. He felt decidedly less naked now. 

Holding the blade in his right hand and settling the shield more comfortably on his other arm, Dean made his way to the clearest portion of the littered floor. “Euryale,” he said in a firm and level voice. “We have unfinished business here. It's not polite to leave a party without saying goodbye to your host.”

Not a whisper of sound met his challenge.

“Euryale,” he repeated more loudly. “I want my angel back, bitch. And I won't take no for an answer.”

Still there was no reply. Not that he had truly expected one.

“Cas,” Dean whispered, and closed his eyes. “You told me once that you always come when I call... Well, I'm calling now, sweetheart. I'm praying like I've never prayed before. If you can hear me... If you're still out there...”

“Dean...”

Dean's eyes shot open, his heart jackhammering in his chest as he spun on his heels. For a moment he couldn't breathe, couldn't speak, couldn't so much as blink, because... because...

A bruised and battered Castiel was leaning heavily against a sagging post, staring back at Dean. The sword loosely dangling from his right hand slipped from his grasp, clattering loudly to the floor as he wearily shuffled a few steps forward, and then a few steps more. His clothing was torn, his hair matted with sweat, his face a patchwork quilt of contusions and abrasions.

And still he was the most beautiful sight the hunter had ever seen.

“Cas!” Dean cried, unbridled joy chasing profound relief across his face. “Cas!” he repeated helplessly, clearly at a loss for anything better to say. Dropping his own sword and shield, he flung himself across the remaining distance and gathered his lover in his arms – just as Castiel's legs buckled, his sudden dead weight dragging both men down to their knees. Dean's hands fluttered across the angel's face and body, trying to assess how much damage he had sustained in battle, his green eyes widening in alarm as he parted the trench coat and saw bright blue light leaking from a vicious wound in Castiel's left side.

“You look like you're in a world of pain, dude.”

Castiel shot Dean a wry look. “I could say the same of you,” he said, trailing a finger down one of the jagged gashes that marred Dean's face. A healing warmth blossomed in the wake of his touch.

“Stop that!” Dean ordered, slapping Castiel's hand away. “Worry about yourself for once, would you?”

“There's no point in wasting my Grace on myself. I am beyond saving now.”

“What do you mean by that?” Dean snapped. “You're going to heal... right? I've seen you bounce back from worse than this.”

“Yes.” Castiel's hand returned to Dean's face, and gently cupped his cheek. “Given time, I would heal. But we don't have the luxury of time.”

“What do you mean?”

Castiel cocked his head to one side, listening to something only he could hear. “I want you to return to the house, Dean,” he said. “Go. Go now, while you still can. It won't be long before she finds me.”

“Before who finds you? Euryale? But if you're here... I thought she must be dead.”

“She is. I killed her.”

“Then, you mean...”

“Stheno,” Castiel completed the sentence. “The forceful one. The destroyer. Euryale was but a playful child compared to her elder sister.”

“You're in no shape to go up against another Gorgon. Your vessel's so damaged, you can hardly walk. I doubt your true form is in much better shape. You can't fight like this.”

“What other choice do I have? You would not survive a confrontation with Stheno.”

“Neither will you.”

“No. I won't.” Castiel's hand slid from Dean's cheek to the back of his head, drawing the hunter closer, until their lips met in a sweet and tender kiss.

“I won't leave you,” Dean breathed, nuzzling the words against his angel's neck. “You can't make me.”

“Then we die... together.”

This time it was Dean who cupped his hands around Castiel's face. Gazing deeply into the beautiful eyes of the man he loved with all his heart and soul, he willed him to see the truth behind the words he was about to utter. “Better death with you, than life without you,” he whispered, and once again brought their lips together. There was nothing gentle about this kiss. There was hunger, and there was fire. Weeks and weeks of pent up frustration and worry burst free as Dean lost himself in his angel. God, he had missed this, missed Castiel's touch, his taste, his breathless little sighs...

Castiel melted into the kiss, eagerly returning it as his shaking hands reached up to anchor themselves on Dean's shoulders, pulling him into a passionate embrace. An all consuming tide of emotion swept them both under its spell as their lips met again and again and again, each kiss deeper than the one before.

“How much time do we have?” Dean asked, husky-voiced, starry-eyed and turned on beyond belief.

“Not nearly enough,” Castiel replied, reluctantly disentangling himself from the hunter's arms and attempting to stand. He failed miserably, sinking back on his haunches with a muffled groan. “And it appears that I am worse than useless. I can't help you, Dean. I can't even help myself.”

“Then I'll do the fighting for both of us,” Dean said quietly, rising to his feet. His gaze locked with the angel's, each man attempting to convey all they did not have the words – or time – to say.

Carefully, then, Dean loosened Castiel's tie, and eased it over his head. His eyes roamed over Castiel's upturned face, memorizing every line, every nuance of expression, as he smoothed the familiar blue strip of cloth with loving hands.

“What are you doing, Dean?”

“Protecting you.” Dean smiled. “I need to know that you're as safe as a mere mortal can make you.”

“Dean?”

“Close your eyes, Cas,” Dean whispered. “Close your eyes.”

 

~*~

 

She was the wind that levelled a forest with a single breath. She was the tsunami that ravaged a shore, the typhoon that devastated a country. Stars winked out one by one, cloaked by the darkness of her despair. Her grief pulled water from the sky, flooding a continent with her tears. Her rage sparked volcanic activity, a chain of mountains igniting with a single glance. Anger, like lava, burned hotly though her veins, consuming all rational thought.

“No,” she screamed. “No, no, NO!” 

She was legend: she whose thirst for blood is unquenchable; she whose wrath knows no bounds. She was a god in her own right. She was every nightmare ever dreamed. And, for the first time in her very long existence, she was alone. The last of her kind.

“Euryale,” she shrieked, brutally rending her flesh with her own claws. “Medusa. My sisters. Gone... gone...” 

Lightning flashed and thunder rumbled, shaking the firmament with her raw fury. The battalion of demons standing nearest to her exploded into glittering piles of dust. The remainder of the demonic hoard Stheno had tricked into her service broke rank and fled, more afraid of the Gorgon than they were the warriors of Heaven. 

Bewildered angels watched the demons flee, leaving the battlefield bereft of foes, save for a solitary, towering pillar of light which grew and grew, until it rivalled the archangel Raguel in its majesty. But before the angels could rally, uniting against this new, unknown threat, it flickered and disappeared.

In the silence that followed, one sound lingered in the space where the column had been: a curse, a threat, a destination – all rolled into a single venomous exhalation of a name.

_Castiel..._

Dardiel's confused gaze slid to meet Satael's cold stare. _What should we do?_ he asked uncertainly. _Our brother is in danger._

Satael shrugged as he sheathed his sword. _That's not really our problem, is it? Castiel made his choice. Let the demon have him. It will save us the trouble of devising a suitable punishment for his cowardly act of desertion._

 _But..._ Dardiel began.

 _There are wounded requiring care,_ Satael chided. _Follow Raguel's lead. Let us tend to those brothers who are worthy of our compassion. If Castiel survives, we will deal with him later._

 

~*~

 

Dean finished knotting Castiel's tie, and stepped back to survey his handiwork. “Perfect,” he breathed, recalling previous times the tie had been employed as other than a fashion statement. More pleasant times. Sexy fun times. He smiled fondly, and bent to place a gentle kiss on each cloth-covered eyelid. 

“Is this really necessary, Dean?” Castiel grumbled, gesturing towards the blindfold. “Do you think I lack discipline? I am an angel of the Lord. I will not peek.”

“Don't make me bind your hands too, so you can't rip it off.” The threat was made only half in jest. Dean knew too well Castiel's tendency to recklessly place his lover above himself. Well, that depth of caring went two ways. He would not risk an unwary glance turning his angel to stone. “We only have one shield,” he added. “I've trained with it for months. You have other abilities you can use instead of sight. Even restricted to your vessel, you can sense things I can't see. We'll make this work, Cas. We have to.”

The angel's head turned to follow the sound of Dean's quick footsteps as he retrieved first Castiel's sword and then his own discarded shield and blade. His arm was already outstretched in anticipation when the hunter returned to his side.

Dean placed Castiel's sword in his hand, and then clasped both of his own hands around the angel's white-knuckled grip. “Try not to stab me with that thing,” he said.

“I will do my best not to,” Castiel solemnly replied.

Dean laughed. He couldn't help himself. There was nothing remotely funny about the predicament they were in, but Castiel was just so damned... _Cute,_ his mind supplied. _Adorable._ And, yeah, screw it. He wasn't going to try to convince himself otherwise. He'd lost that particular war years ago. He'd save his energy for the battle that lay ahead.

“I love you,” he whispered, wishing the words didn't sound so much like goodbye.

Castiel's free hand reached out to unerringly hook the back of Dean's neck and draw him into a kiss that promised, one way or another, in all the ways that counted, they'd always be together. _Always..._

And who was Dean to question an angel's faith.

 

~*~

 

It seemed like hours passed before Sam's cane finally tapped against the side of the barn but, in actuality, the final stage of his journey couldn't have taken him more than ten minutes. Sam sighed in relief as his fingers touched rough planking, further proof that his instincts had not steered him wrong. Funny, though... He didn't remember the walls having such a mean tilt, nor did he remember there being so much scrap lumber underfoot. He must have strayed from the path after all, which made it a toss up as to which way he should go next. 

“Okay, then,” he muttered. “I'll do it the hard way. I'll walk the perimeter until I find the damned door.”

Keeping his left hand in contact with the wall, and using his cane to test for pitfalls, Sam stubbornly continued his search. Several minutes later found him bramble-scratched, hot and sweaty. The bad news was that the salt of his perspiration burned like hell in the scratches. The good news was that the brambles helped him to orient himself. He remembered picking blackberries here as a kid, on the south-facing side of the barn, where the sun was strongest and the plants grew thick and tall. He could still remember the sweet taste of those sun-ripened berries, and the way Dean always laughed when he saw his little brother's berry-stained face.

Dean didn't laugh much any more...

Maybe, when he got his angel back, he would.

With that hope drawing a slight smile on his own face, Sam carefully extracted himself from the wild tangle of bushes and began to retrace his steps.

 

~*~

 

Castiel was the first to notice it: the dire hush that fell upon the world around them, silencing the whisper of the breeze, the rustling trees, the low cry of an owl, even the distant sound of traffic. 

“Dean,” he murmured, urgency tinging the low rumble of his voice. “Help me up.”

It was on the tip of Dean's tongue to flat-out refuse this as a ridiculous notion but, had their situations been reversed, he knew he would have made the same request. Any hunter would. 

“She's coming, isn't she?” he said, setting his sword and shield aside without argument and crouching down next to Castiel.

Castiel nodded. “It won't be long now. Dean... It isn't too late. You still have time to – ”

“To what?” Dean growled. “Abandon you? Already told you I won't do that.”

The hunter's tone was sharp, but his hands were gentle. Internally wincing at each moan Castiel uttered as he forced his aching body to move, Dean carefully helped him rise. In truth, it was more a case of lifting than assisting, and it took two tries before the angel actually managed to stand. Precious seconds ticked by as Dean continued to offer support, one hand on Castiel's elbow, the other at the small of his back, refusing to let go until it was clear he wasn't going to topple over the instant he was released.

“I'm fine, Dean,” Castiel said. 

It was patently obvious he was anything but fine, however Dean had no choice other than to accept the lie. Time was running out. He could feel it in his bones.

Sure enough, the unnatural silence came to an end just as Dean's hand slipped from Castiel's arm with a final, lingering caress. As he swiftly retrieved his weapons, a tickling sensation filled the hunter's mind, his brain translating it into a simulation of a Boeing 747 barrelling down a runway towards him, the screech of its engines growing louder and louder the closer it came: a whine becoming a whistle; a whistle, a roar...

Dean glanced at Castiel, who was resolutely standing by his side, his sword clenched in his hand, a proud and steadfast warrior despite the severity of his injuries. The angel's lips were white and pinched, indicating that he was fighting the pain, but also betraying how much the fight was costing him. Dean didn't hold out much hope that he could maintain his position much longer. Sheer stubbornness could only carry a man – or an angel – so far. But he kept this worry to himself, instead voicing a more pressing concern.

“Which way should I face?” he shouted, as the tempest in his head became an actual, physical presence that pulsed through the air and made the ground tremble.

Castiel tilted his head, considering how best to answer. In her true form, the Gorgon was not subject to mankind's limited understanding of space and time. She was everywhere, and nowhere; simultaneously existing in a multitude of interconnected, tesseract-like dimensions. Normally, he would meet her in a similar, heightened state of being, as he had with Euryale: two multidimensional wavelengths locked in immortal combat. That was not an viable option, given his current, weakened condition... but this seeming disadvantage might also work in their favour. 

If Stheno's attention was focused entirely upon him – and he was certain that it already was – then she would materialize on this plain of existence simply because he was here. Obliterating him from afar wouldn't satisfy her thirst for vengeance. She would want to see him die. Only glorying in his painful, gruesome death would salve the open wound of her grief. 

So... if he played the sacrificial lamb, willingly offering himself in such a way that it left the Gorgon vulnerable, if only for a moment, then Dean might be able to strike a fatal blow while her attention was diverted.

It was 'worth a shot' as Dean might say.

It was, quite likely, the only chance they had.

That Dean would probably be the only survivor of this gambit, and that he would vehemently be against it if he knew this, gave Castiel only momentary pause for thought. He might never be forgiven for this final cruel deception, but Dean would be safe. So be it. That was a more than equitable trade in Castiel's eyes.

“Stand back to back with me,” he shouted, labouring to be heard above the ever increasing noise level. “Keep your eyes trained on your mirrored shield. When Stheno comes for me and I drop to the floor, strike. Strike hard and true.” That he could well be dead before he hit the floor Castiel did not bother to mention. Dean would find out all too soon that his angel was aiding and abetting his own execution.

“Until then, turn as I turn,” Castiel continued. “I will sense any change of direction as she approaches, and adapt my position accordingly.”

“Okay!” Dean hollered, his reply half swallowed by a series of eerie shrieks which grew louder and louder with every passing second. “I'm ready, Ca – ” he started to say.

Unfortunately, time ran out before he could finish the sentence.

 

~*~

 

He was the beacon drawing her in, the centre of the universe narrowed down to one infinitesimal speck that pulsed and glimmered. Angel, but not angel. Visible, but concealed. 

_Castiel,_ Stheno screamed, more than half mad with grief and fury. _Castiel! Show yourself!_

There was no reply.

That an angel ignored her challenge to accept battle on a celestial plain added insult to injury, further increasing her wrath. This? This was the dishonourable creature who had taken her last remaining sibling from her?

 _Coward! Murderer!_ The cry reverberated off a snowcapped mountaintop in the Cascade Range, sending an avalanche crashing down upon a sleeping town. A slew of electrical failures followed in the wake of her passage: Oregon... Idaho...Wyoming... each state instantly plunged into darkness, one after another, as she carelessly swept by; the widespread blackout accompanied by disaster after disaster; the quiet of the night punctuated with the wail of sirens and shrieks of pain and despair.

 _Castiel,_ Stheno repeated, her voice the scrape of fingernails on a cosmic blackboard. _Castiel!_

 

~*~

 

Eight straight hours on the road made for a long day. Time was, Bobby could have easily traversed the five hundred-odd miles between Sioux Falls and Milwaukee and still found the energy to go a round or two with a feisty ghost or a frisky girl. Hell, he could have taken one on after the other. 

Fact was, those days were gone. His body ached clear down to the bone and his eyes were fast approaching the point where a quick blink threatened to become a light doze. He was more than happy to spot a garish neon sign off to one side of the road, inviting travellers to stop awhile before continuing on to the city proper.

It wasn't a fancy sign. Half the letters were dim and flickering – the first few were missing altogether. The words 'uck Stop' flashed over and over, their ugly shade of reddish-orange light giving the impression that the parking lot was bathed in blood. 'Truck Stop', he assumed, though 'fuck, stop!' sounded like damned good advice too right about now. His bladder felt like it was about to burst.

Pulling into the last remaining space of a crowded parking lot, Bobby killed the engine and groaned as he stepped out of his truck. A quick assessment of his surroundings gave no indication of danger, but he tucked a pistol under his belt, and stowed a knife and flask of holy water in his pocket – just in case – before sauntering towards the building.

Like the sign, the building wasn't fancy. Long and low, it squatted in a barren waste of pavement. Shingles were missing from the roof, and the outside walls were splattered with what Bobby could only hope was mud. At some point in time, a good-sized vehicle had backed into one corner of the building. Pink insulation poked out from the crumpled siding like a grossly swollen tongue – hardly an appetizing sight. Someone had tried to pretty the place up once upon a time, but the flowers had died in the crookedly hung window boxes, and their skeletal remains chittered angrily in the breeze as Bobby walked past them and opened the door.

It only took a single breath for him to understand why the parking lot was so crowded. The smells emanating from the kitchen had his mouth watering before the door swung closed behind him.

No one glanced his way when he entered. Most of the patrons were far too focused on shovelling food into their mouths; the remainder of the crowd had their hopeful eyes trained on the three waitress who were busy ferrying trays to waiting tables.

'Please seat yourself ', a hand-lettered sign directed.

Easier said than done. Like the parking lot, the room was filled to overflowing: locals and truck drivers of both sexes and all ages and sizes, nattily dressed and casually clad in equal measure. Obviously word was out that _this_ was the place to be. Bobby shrugged and decided to hit the can. If a spot didn't open up by the time he was through, then he'd settle for a take-out order. He sure as hell wasn't leaving until he sampled whatever it was that smelled so good.

Chance was in his favour. As he made his way back into the main room he spotted an empty bar stool at the counter and gratefully slipped into it. While he waited to be served, his eyes were drawn to a television mounted on the wall Apparently, the world was having a bad day: mudslides, typhoon, volcanic activity, tsunami... As for right here in the good ol' US of A: a town buried beneath tons of snow in Washington state; forest fires in the Bighorn Mountains; and Old Faithful was running amok, shooting boiling water to record breaking heights without any sign that it was going to stop any time soon. And, oh, this just in from Reva... Dupree... Harrold... Woonsocket...

Image after image flashed on the screen: burning factories, collapsed buildings, traffic accidents of epic proportions, explosions and chaos and destruction as the power grid failed and Mother Nature ran wild.

“Balls!” Bobby exclaimed, already connecting the dots in his mind long before a map appeared on the TV screen to confirm his suspicions: if someone took a black marker and drew a big arrow through those South Dakota towns, it would point directly to Sioux Falls. 

“Balls!” he repeated more loudly, angrily yanking his cell phone from his jacket pocket. “What have those fuckin' idjits got themselves into this time?” 

Neither Sam nor Dean picked up their phone to answer the question. No pick up on any of his hunter call lines either. “Great,” he muttered. “That's just jim-dandy.”

“Can I help you, sugar?” a weary looking waitress enquired.

“I doubt it,” Bobby sighed.

 

~*~

 

Stheno burst through the west side of the barn with the force of a tornado, spinning dust and splintered wood into a lethal cannonball targeted straight at Castiel and Dean. Sensing the agitated particles' movement, Castiel extended his left hand, expending Grace to deflect the projectile and send it harmlessly bouncing out the hole in the roof. 

The Gorgon screeched in displeasure as she materialized more fully on the narrow, human spectrum: dots of multicoloured light coalescing into glittering scales, her head and torso rising above thick coils to tower over the angel and the human. Dean angled his shield so he could see around Castiel and better observe the Gorgon. She was easily a full head taller than Euryale. The mass of snakes that writhed around her face were sharper fanged and had a longer reach, curling almost down to her waist. Brazen claws extended a good six inches past the palms of her hands, and her bared fangs glistened with what appeared to be venom, the viscous liquid sliding down the curved boar tusks on either side of her jaw and dripping on the floor. The enormous golden wings she had spread to stabilize her entrance snapped like sails in the wind as they flexed and folded. But it was not her wings that held Dean captive, horrified and mesmerized all at once.

It was her eyes.

He had no words to describe the fear and loathing her gaze provoked. He had seen much in his young life, more than most men, but he had never seen the likes of this. He shuddered, and felt his body cringe away from his shield. And that was in response to a reflection! Her actual gaze was not even directed towards him. Castiel – poor, vessel-bound Castiel – was the recipient of all that seething hatred.

A shriek burst from the Gorgon's lips: a grating, metallic screech that made Dean's ears ache and ring.

Castiel replied in kind: a higher, purer note that could only be his true voice, given the way it added to the human's extreme discomfort. 

Thankfully, that was the extent of their conversation.

Castiel brought his sword up in one smooth motion, his stance indicating _now!_ as clearly as if he had spoken the word. Dean found himself nodding in agreement even as he brought his own sword up to bear. 

What happened in the space of a few heartbeats seemed to play out in slow motion, then. Dean saw the Gorgon hurl herself at the angel, her face frozen in a rictus of fury; deadly claws outstretched, eager to rip and rend.

And Castiel?

Castiel cast his sword aside and simply stood there, his arms outstretched as if he had been hung upon a cross, their spread further blocking Dean from Stheno's sight. The air shimmered around the angel's shoulders, as if his own wings were quivering to be set free, but whether from weakness or design, they remained stubbornly furled.

The Gorgon drew nearer.

Weight balanced on the balls of his feet, his sword arm drawn back, ready to swing, Dean waited for the angel to drop flat to the ground as they had planned.

One heartbeat... two...

Between the second and third heartbeat, a sick realization swept across the hunter's face. Castiel wasn't going to fling himself out of the way. He was going to go down with the Gorgon on top of him, her neck exposed to Dean's blade as she gleefully concentrated on tearing Castiel apart.

“No!” Dean screamed, his right foot lashing out behind him, the backwards kick catching Castiel squarely in the bend of his left knee. Instantly, he crumpled, toppling off to the side with a moan of protest.

Even as the angel fell, Dean was turning, spinning faster than his racing pulse, his eyes squeezed shut as his sword whistled through the air.

The Gorgon also screamed, pain lacing her piercing cry. Dean quickly brought his shield up to cover his face, his eyes scanning the mirrored surface with hope, with trepidation, as he frantically angled it this way and that.

His heart plummeted as he spotted Stheno, not fifteen feet from where he stood. She was hunched over a looping nest of coils, her face turned away from him as she inspected the stumps which were all that remained of three of the talons on her right hand. As if sensing Dean's gaze, her head lifted and swivelled towards him, revealing a nasty gash on her left cheek and a sizeable chunk of missing snakes on the same side.

He had hoped to inflict more damage than a sloppy haircut. Disappointment churned in his gut as the Gorgon rose from her coils, swaying back and forth like a rattlesnake, the writhing mass of vipers still framing her face quivering with anger.

Dean was expecting Stheno to launch another attack, so he was not surprised to see her already in motion, mercury quick as she slithered across the floor, sweeping debris from her path with casual flicks of her tail. What he had not foreseen was that he would not be her primary target, that he would not have a second chance to strike a blow. Her single-minded desire to make Castiel pay for her sister's death left no room for petty annoyances such as humans. 

It was Dean's turn to have his legs knocked out from under him. A single disdainful flex of a glittering coil sent him tumbling away, one more piece of garbage to be discarded. Somehow, he managed to hang onto both sword and shield as he was tumbled. Bruised and shaken, he staggered to his feet, quickly angling the shield just in time to see Stheno's remaining talons sink deep into the fallen angel. Castiel made a valiant effort to escape, striking out with a series of superhuman blows which had no apparent effect upon the Gorgon. Instead of flinching away, Stheno easily rolled him over on his back and drew him in closer. Castiel's scrabbling fingers found the handle of his sword and he attempted to stab the Gorgon with it, but she easily knocked the weapon from his hand and sent it skittering across the floor.

Her fangs were inches from the angel's throat, when Dean finally found his voice.

“Wait!” he cried. “I can give you Crowley.”

Yet again, the Gorgon's head turned towards him. God, but she was an ugly bitch. Dean fought back a rising tide of bile, and tried to keep his shield steady in his trembling hand.

“Crowley,” the Gorgon hissed. “”What makes you think that I want Crowley?”

“Y-your s-sister,” Dean stuttered. “Sh-she told me you planed to rule Hell. Together. And I know she's gone... But you're still here. Hell's still waiting for a new leader.”

“A kingdom cannot replace my loss.”

“No. It can't. But Eur –”

“Do not speak her name! Do not sully her memory with your filthy, human tongue.”

“It was what your sister wanted. Hell could be her legacy.”

“And you would give it to me? Just like that? Hell could be mine – all for the price of an angel? _This_ angel!”

“No, Dean!” Castiel shouted. “Don't –”

Stheno viciously backhanded him across the face, stunning him into silence.

“Yes,” Dean said, swallowing heavily. “You have my word. Crowley for the angel.”

A talon plucked at the necktie protecting Castiel's eyes. “He murdered my sister,” she whispered. 

“She died in battle,” Dean countered. “A warrior's death, in a fair fight.” 

Stheno abruptly pulled Castiel up to the level of her eyes, and held him there as if he weighed nothing at all. “Is this true?” she questioned, shaking him until his teeth rattled.

“Yes,” Castiel gasped.

“And do you return this human's feelings?”

“No,” Castiel replied, not liking where this conversation was heading. “He is my charge. It is my duty to protect him – to die in his service if necessary.”

“Hmmm,” Stheno hummed thoughtfully. 

Dean began to retreat step by careful step. “I'll just run to the house and get Crowley's remains, then,” he babbled. “If you could... um... let Cas go in the meantime... Maybe just set him down, over there. I'll be right back and you can be on your way.”

“No,” Stheno said. “I don't think so. I don't want Crowley, or Hell. And I don't want your angel either. I want you.”

 

~*~

 

Around the same time that the Gorgon burst through the wall and the world seemingly went mad, Sam finally stumbled through the doorway into the barn. His presence went unnoticed as he pressed himself against the nearest wall, his head turning from side to side, intently following the noise of battle, grunts of pain and furious voices painting a vivid picture in his mind. 

It was the sound of a sword skittering across the floor that lured him out from his hiding place. He had heard that sound too many times in practice bouts to mistake it now. The blade was close, he knew it was. Maybe three feet off to his right. Squatting down, Sam patted the floor around him, patiently widening the search pattern until he felt something sharp slice into his index finger. A more cautious touch followed a cold metal blade until he found and grasped the hilt.

Quietly, then, he rose and shuffled his careful way back to the relative safety of the wall... listening... waiting...

 

~*~

 

“You want what now?” Dean sputtered. 

“I can smell the reek of deception in the air,” Stheno growled. “Your scent is all over his skin. I do not know what makes you special, human, and I do not care. But you are special – to him. Special enough that you can make a lie spill from an angel's lips. I know he loves you.”

“Run, Dean!” Castiel commanded, his body softly glowing as he began the transformation into his true form. “I'll hold her off until –” 

The words cut off with a breathless 'oomph' as the Gorgon wrapped the angel in her coils and squeezed, easily thwarting his weak attempt to leave his vessel.

“ 'And thine eye shall not pity; but life shall go for life, eye for eye, tooth for tooth,' ” she hissed, casting Castiel aside after giving him a final ruthless squeeze. “Is that not written in your precious scripture? It seems more than fair to me. You have taken what was mine...”

“No!” Castiel begged. “Your quarrel is with me, not him.”

“... so I will take what is yours,” Stheno continued, unmoved by his plea. “A lover's life for a sister's. _That_ is true justice. Learn to live with _that_ pain, my fellow immortal.”

“Dean,” Castiel moaned. “For God's sake, _run!”_

And Dean did run, then. But not in the direction Castiel thought he should. Instead, he ran straight towards the Gorgon, his shield held before his eyes, his sword cutting a broad and wild swath before him. So engrossed was Stheno in her gloating, that she did not perceive the danger until it was upon her. 

“ 'Let them know men did this',” Dean cried as once, twice, his sword bit into the Gorgon's flesh. 

Stheno bellowed in pain and lashed out with a savage blow that instantly dislocated Dean's shoulder, and might well have torn his head from his body had it not struck his shield instead.

Dean was tumbled a good twenty feet towards the barn door, his sword and shield lost somewhere along the way. He landed on his side with a bone-jarring crash, feeling his arm and ribcage shatter from the force of the impact. Half hoping that a splinter of bone would pierce his heart before the Gorgon could set herself upon him, he lay there in an agony of anticipation, his eyes squeezed tightly shut and his breath rattling wetly in his chest.

He did not have long to wait.

A soft slither of coils announced Stheno's arrival, the ever present chorus of hissing snakes drawing closer and closer until he could feel their forked tongues flicking out to brush against his cheek.

Dean shuddered, but made no other move, not even when sharp talons framed his eyes, applying just enough pressure to cut the delicate skin. Warm blood began to trickle down either side of his face, the tracks forming a delta of blood which dripped to the floor in a parody of tears.

“Open your eyes,” the Gorgon snarled into the shell of his ear. “Open your eyes, or I will pry them open them for you.”

“Hey! Bitch!” Sam shouted, abruptly stepping out from the shadows.

Stheno paused, a low growl rumbling in her chest as her head turned from Dean toward the barn's main entrance.

Sam stood perfectly still, his eyes squeezed tightly shut, waiting, waiting, as the sound of slithering scales scraped across the barn floor, drawing nearer and nearer until he felt the Gorgon's breath, hot and sour, wash across his face.

“What have we here?” Stheno rasped, as a talon mock-caressed Sam's throat. “Another would-be hero? What a pretty statue you will make when you look at me. And you _will_ look at me.” The talon lightly sliced into Sam's neck, painting her brass nail scarlet. “Who are you, little fool?” she hissed, her impatience growing at his apparent indifference to her threat. “Answer me!”

Sam opened his eyes, revealing the cold stone orbs that had lain hidden beneath the veil of his lashes. “I'm Dean's brother,” he said. “The one your sister blinded.” 

Before Stheno had time to process this pronouncement, the blade he had held hidden behind his back swung out in a perfect arc, severing her head from her body.

“Sam!” Dean hollered, pushing himself up with his good arm, his eyes shooting open with no thought given to the fact that he might be turned to stone. But Stheno's lifeless body had fallen on top of her severed head, hiding it from view. Only his brother stood before him, splattered from head to toe with a thick spray of the Gorgon's blood.

_Gorgon blood! Oh God, no! Please, no..._

Words from an obscure, ancient text flashed before his eyes: _Blood taken from the right side of a Gorgon may bring the dead back to life or have other restorative powers, yet blood taken from the left side is an instantly fatal poison. A single drop is sufficient..._

Even as Dean stared at his brother in horror, Sam wiped a sleeve across his face, removing most of the gore, but leaving behind a tiny smear of scarlet on his lips.

“Sammy, no!” Dean screamed. “Don't – ”

But Sam's tongue was already peeking out, unthinkingly seeking to remove the sticky, tingling presence from his flesh. His head cocked to one side and he grimaced at the bitter taste.

“Sam?” Dean whimpered. _“Sam...”_

Sam blinked, and turned a curious gaze his brother's way. “You look like like hell, Dean,” he said.

“Sam? Oh God, Sam! You can see me?”

Sam rolled two hazel, obviously no-longer-stone eyes and heaved his patented 'give me patience' sigh. “Yeah, Dean. I can see you. You. Look. Like. Hell. And Cas over there doesn't look a whole lot better. I think he's out cold. What the fuck were you guys thinking?”

“I was trying to save your ass, Sam,” Dean replied, attempting to sit up without passing out. “And Cas was trying to save mine.”

“You don't always have to save me, Dean,” Sam said gently. “Sometimes, I need to save myself.”


End file.
